


Know That I Would Gladly Be The Icarus to Your Certainty

by irisesandlilies



Series: Command Me To Be Well [2]
Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quincey Harker....well not yet, They Really Really Love Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisesandlilies/pseuds/irisesandlilies
Summary: “Ours is the holiest love.”No words can accurately convey the way her face shifts with a delicate fondness, how her affections for him alter her eyes, and show in the curve of her mouth.He wants to keep the image of her glowing with him forever.(....or Mina begins to deal with everything that happened and reads that bit in Jonathan’s journal where he commits to joining her as a vampire and she returns the sentiment in the best way possible.)
Relationships: Jonathan Harker/Mina Harker, Jonathan Harker/Mina Murray
Series: Command Me To Be Well [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906552
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	Know That I Would Gladly Be The Icarus to Your Certainty

**Author's Note:**

> Each day, you'd rise with me, know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty, oh, my sunlight, sunlight, [sunlight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PELeEo33JXs)
> 
> I wrote this on a whim when I was thinking about the fact Jonathan was literally gonna become a vampire for Mina. 
> 
> unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> also a heads up for strong themes of ptsd and trauma.

Immediately following the close of the horrors they had shared, Mina denied the events. The wretched red splotch on her skin had vanished and she feigned that the fear stowed in her soul had too. 

If she maintained the act of normalcy long enough it would become reality. 

So she wrote letters to Lucy, addressed and sealed them as though delicate fingers would soon peel away the wax. 

She held Jonathan when he awoke, violently trembling and weeping her name. Like her touch healed his unseen wounds better than pulling away the gauze and treating them properly. 

For brief moments her neglect of their trauma seemed sufficient. Jonathan would peer at her, head tilted towards her in the afterglow of their attempts to physically express their undying affections. She was still astonished at the static of his eyes, the forever unchanged awe, and boyish wonder. The way the green seemed to radiate from his soul in streaks of light and paint his entire face so brightly. When she caught his gaze in moments such as that, it was easy to believe no hurt had ever touched them. 

For awhile they continued like that, dancing around their anguish with the most elegant footwork.

*

When Mina followed the sounds of unfettered despair and found Jonathan cradling his head in his hands, his form so saturated with agony that it threatened to permeate his bright eyes she was finally brought to the assertion that she could not heal her beloved from a torture she refused to acknowledge herself.

She sat beside him on the marred hardwood, memorizing the feeling of his body shuddering in her arms. She carefully committed to mind the way his hurt shook her heart too.

*

She first relearned their experience with her own words. She poured over her journal and forced the acknowledgment of each misstep that had lead to Quincey’s blood staining her hands, Jonathan’s heart breaking in her own chest. Reading her own recollections made her want to pretend to forget again.

There was the bitter taunt of hindsight that plagued her incessantly, as though she could have rewritten their horrors by simply insisting that Jonathan not travel so far from home, or have been more diligent with Lucy when her curse began to manifest.

Jonathan is angry at the mere suggestion. He clutches Mina’s face, sweeping his thumbs across the swell of her features. He briefly presses his lips to the painting her tears leave on her cheeks, before fixating on her with a fierce sternness. She recalled his expression from when he had previously beheld her and promised that her assertions of her impurity and unholiness meant nothing to him.

*

The window of Jonathan’s study was slightly ajar, casting the curtain into a waltz in the evening breeze. Mina follows the sturdy wood of the desk with trailing fingers. She aims her source of light towards a stack of books. The spines are turned away, showing only thin white pages like teeth.

Jonathan made remembering easier. The stroke of his penmanship and written narrative so befitting his nature off-paper eased her misery. 

His words regarding their quest of destruction explicitly expressed his motive throughout the ordeal. His writing explained his affections as indisputably as the lovesick gaze he constantly cast upon Mina. His part in the crusade against evil was for her. 

The pages worried with ink reminded her so sweetly that everything he did was a calculated effort in her favor. 

The context he provided in his journals made confronting her anguish far less daunting.

*

_To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks._

Mina studied Jonathan’s words until they were a recurrent murmur in her thoughts. 

She was captive to the impulse to tear the page itself from its leather home and relocate it with her, tucked in her top, on her night table, beneath her pillow, folded and unfolded until the page was worn with affection. 

The scripture Jonathan etched on the page had been with black ink but it showed red with the blood that graced his heart and veins. 

It was a promise that she had understood before reading his words, articulated in his touch and assertive expression all along.

*

Mina’s nails drag dully against Jonathan’s scalp, her fingertips glowing with the sheen of his slivery strands, never fully recovering its spun gold hue.

There was something so delicately familiar about the moment, sprawled in bed with Mina’s touch gracing every inch of Jonathan’s fair face. Though, there was also something entirely foreign. Time exists to them before and after he had left for Transylvania. 

Maybe it is Jonathan’s gentle palm curled around her supple thigh where her nightgown is drawn up, warming the metal of his wedding band. Maybe it is the serenity of the moment, Jonathan nestled between Mina’s legs. 

“Jonathan?”

He contorts to face her, muscle rippling beneath the skin. He just gazes at her for a moment, his eyes round. 

There is a dab of color speckled across his face, as though Mina had blotted the slightest rose hue across his pale cheeks. His mouth is slack momentarily, lips flushed from her earlier efforts. 

She peers steadily at him, permeating all the bits of his soul left empty by their collective trauma. 

“What is it?” He asks, skirting the back of his hand along the soft slope of her jaw. 

She turns her head so slightly, just enough to find his palm with her mouth and press a kiss there. 

“Would you really have sullied your soul for me? 

For a moment Jonathan watches her, longs to cut himself on her broken edges and kiss the frown from her mouth. 

“Ours is the holiest love.”

No words can accurately convey the way her face shifts with a delicate fondness, how her affections for him alter her eyes, and show in the curve of her mouth. 

He wants to keep the image of her glowing with him forever. 

She traces the lines of worry and adoration written across his face, Peering down at him delicately.

He folds his palm around the hand touching him, holds her fingers in his for a moment. 

Her questioning vaguely rekindles that trauma seated deeply inside him though, as though she is reconfirming his affections because she knows something he does not. Maybe her scar only faded from the surface. 

“Oh, Mina.” He whimpers softly. 

He can feel her heart against the bare ladder of his spine.

He screws up his face, shutting his eyes and focusing on the softness of her hands against his nose, his mouth, his creased forehead. 

“Jonathan?” She murmurs after a lengthy pause, her mouth moving against his hair. 

He nods in response, swallowing thickly. 

So much of his mind is occupied with bloodstained illustrations of their past, a fear that the creature that had turned to dust before their eyes would somehow regather its form. A fear that Mina’s throat still burned with that creature’s foul method of indoctrination. 

“Come back to me.” Her voice calls gently against the shell of his ear.

“I’m here.” 

“There is something you must know, my love.” 

That familiar wretched panic pools in his heart and spills out of his mouth in ragged breaths. 

But her voice is light, dancing on the sweet air that he was desperate to saturate his lungs with. 

“Turn towards me.” 

He dislodges himself and turns to kneel before her, bent in prayer. 

Her hair falls in loose, dark curls. The tendrils move with white fabric across her flushed, warm skin. 

“Hold out your hands.” 

He holds out his spindly fingers between them, impossibly eager to obey any request she posed. 

She takes them and examines them with a tender smile catching her lips, dragging her thumb across her glow reflected on his ring. 

“You said I shall not go into that land alone.” 

Jonathan nods and swallows gruffly before sweeping his eyes across her form. She returns his fixation, tentative but fervent. 

She splays his fingers gently and takes him by each wrist, pulling his open palms towards her midsection. She places them there carefully against the folds of her gown. 

“We shall never be alone again.” She says with the most devout expression gracing her ethereal face. 

She runs her fingertips along his hands anchored on her torso. 

It takes a moment for his aching mind to gather and catalogue her words, stitch them together with the position she’d settled his hands. 

All he can fathom is light, the same light that had blinded him when she had found him waiting for her or waiting for death in Budapest. 

He trembles and any declaration of absolute joy is only articulated as bright whimpers of her name. 

She nods slowly and earnestly, and tips his face towards hers with a gentle finger beneath his chin. 

She exhales warmly, dragging her lips from the smile lines framing his mouth to the grin on his lips. 

He’s unable to return her kiss properly, the smile taking his mouth fully and bumping against hers. 

His hands shake slightly against the subtle swell of her midsection, cradling the blooming life that signified their greatest triumph over evil.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah I know Jonathan originally had dark hair but I’ve always imagined him as vaguely resembling bill skarsgård, don’t @ me. 
> 
> anyways i love them so much they deserve the world and I can’t believe they actually got a canon happy ending!! bram stoker rights!!! 
> 
> I hope you liked this even though it’s kinda messy ❤️


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